


We Keep Meeting

by dreamlittleyo



Series: Distress and Disarray [49]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Feelings, Kidnapping, M/M, Peril, Rank Disparity, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 22:07:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20571671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: In which Hamilton needs a new plan.





	We Keep Meeting

After three days in captivity—and five distinct escape attempts—Hamilton finds himself trapped in an unpleasant limbo between rage and despair. The separation between the two sentiments runs perilously thin.

At least he no longer feels ready to fall over and expire at the first provocation. He is still shaky—more and more he's convinced their captors used unpleasant chemicals to incapacitate them—but he's no longer dehydrated. And he's eaten, albeit tasteless bricks of nutritional rations. Surely if he and his fellow prisoners are being fed, the intention is not to kill them. 

Perhaps this is a naive hope, but Hamilton is also increasingly confident they are hostages toward some political purpose. Three straight days refusing to cooperate, yet no one has been murdered or tortured—or even badly wounded—seems improbable otherwise.

Hamilton has no intention of taking this hope for granted. As soon as he can find his way to another functional escape plan, he'll be back in motion.

The challenge is greater now that he's been put in a private cell, under a frankly ridiculous amount of security. In addition to the sturdy door and hum of a force field running through walls and floor and ceiling, there are two guards outside his door. Actual living, breathing bipeds rather than mechanical drones. A thorough search of the humming walls has turned up nothing at all he can work with. He has access to _nothing_ that might help his efforts—they've made sure he can't reach so much as a tertiary maintenance node, probably because he used exactly such a redundant system in his fourth attempt to break free.

There must be _some_ weakness in his surroundings, but so far Hamilton hasn't managed to crack this newest puzzle.

The room Hamilton occupies is not soundproof. He can hear an occasional undercurrent of conversation between his guards just outside the heavy door, though they're clearly speaking low to avoid being spied on. No matter how hard he strains his ears, Hamilton can't make out actual words.

He's tried getting their attention by raising a ruckus, but they persist in ignoring him. Apparently unflappable, or at the very least uninterested in his antics. Perhaps under strict orders not to acknowledge him in any way since escape attempt number five involved conning a passing security guard into unlocking his cell.

It presents a conundrum. With no computer access within the contours of his confinement, and no hope of talking his way out of this closet-sized room, Hamilton's options are so few as to seem hopeless.

He doesn't even have enough space to _move_. His usual preferred methods of thought involve pacing, but at present he has barely enough room to lie down. There is nowhere for him to stride restlessly back and forth while inviting inspiration into his head.

Unbidden, Hamilton thinks of his general.

Surely if their positions were reversed, Washington would already have intuited some clever—and successful—way out of the predicament. He would not have to content himself with a couple of coded transmissions and a glimpse of the open water on which this vessel currently rests. He would already be guiding everyone to safety after sussing out _who the hell_ kidnapped them in the first place.

Hamilton hates the thought of disappointing Washington, even more than he hates worrying him.

A loud thump startles him out of this spiral of inadequacy, and Hamilton stares at the door as though it might offer some explanation. A second thump follows the first, and he scrambles to his feet. His legs are all pins and needles, his ass sore from sitting on the hard ground, but he stands steadily enough.

He fists his hands at his sides, even though he has no idea what he's bracing for. Hell, he might be bracing for nothing at all. A couple random thuds in the hall don't mean anything's gone awry. He's heard plenty of random noises over the last few hours. These are nowhere near the strangest.

But a moment later, the hum of the force field cuts out and the cell door slides open. Hamilton tenses at the first hiss of movement, then stands perfectly still, disbelief and shock keeping him rooted in place.

"_Burr_." This is too fucking good to be true. "I never thought I could be this happy to see you."

"Are you all right?" Burr ignores the jibe. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." It's not precisely untrue. Hamilton still feels like shit, but he's doing a whole lot better than he was before. His pounding headache and trembling limbs won't slow him down now that there's a way out. He can admit how awful he feels to the medics at the diplomatic compound, once he knows everyone is safe.

"Good. Then let's get the hell out of here. My team's checking the rest of the cells on this level, and Ensign Pitcher is already headed to our rendezvous point with the civilians."

"You got my message?" Hamilton asks, stepping over an unconscious guard slumped in front of the open cell door. He pauses just long enough to crouch and search both fallen figures, requisitioning for himself the one phaser he finds between them.

"Yes," Burr agrees in the inflectionless tone that suggests he's sparing no attention at all for this conversation, keeping his entire focus turned outward along the corridor. "I could have used more detailed information."

Hamilton checks the power levels of his new weapon and turns the settings to stun. "I was working with limited resources."

"Of course," Burr says, in a tone both placating and disinterested. "This way. We have to move fast."

Hamilton rolls his eyes, but follows without protest.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Separation, Frank, Tertiary


End file.
